


Beat Feet

by bbymishas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1940s, 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bi-Curiosity, Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Cussing, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Male Character, Hate Crimes, Light Angst, M/M, On the Run, Partners in Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbymishas/pseuds/bbymishas
Summary: Alternate universe wherein professor!Cas gets investigated for communist ideology (50s). Student!Dean kinda develops a crush on a certain art history professor. Things build up and up until they run away together.Ongoing fic





	Beat Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> Leaving kudos and kind comments never hurt anyone :)))

“If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door”  
-Harvey Milk

 

Chapter 01  
January 6th, 1946

Castiel never liked the winter, but today is different, today he hates the harsh, biting wind of winter especially at 2 in the morning when he has to open the door of his warm apartment to face a pissed off FBI agent. 

Castiel held his breath as to not sigh and started “Good morn-” when the agent, a Detective Naomi flashed him his badge and began talking, “Castiel Novak, you’re under suspicion by the Federal Bureau of Intelligence for conspiracy against democratic and capitalistic government in the United States. I have a few questions to ask you”. 

That’s when Castiel let out his breath, rolled his eyes and calmly told the detective, “Detective, with all due respect I’m not a red, now good night” and with that he swung the door and went back to his bed.

A few minutes later Castiel found himself being unable to sleep due to knocks at his front door that wouldn’t cease. Castiel refused to answer the door for that dumb agent again. He'll admit he is particularly more liberal than most, but he’s definitely not some red. 

Amidst his thoughts Castiel realised the knocking had stopped, which thank God, and now it was replaced by silence, which seemed increasingly strange. He quietly stood from his bed, tossing his 2 blankets to the side with much more effort than necessary. He walked across the room and opened the door, just a crack at first.

That’s when he heard the huge crash, like glass breaking and then a “Shit, fuck, really Inias, really?” followed by a “Sorry Naomi” and then a sigh and some shifting feet. And fuck, it hit Castiel harder than a punch to the gut, 2 FBI agents had fucking broken into his house.

Great. Castiel closed the tiny crack of the door and locked it, then he laid down on the bottom of his stomach to listen to these sketchy “‘FBI agents”, presumably bugging all his rooms. He can’t say his speedy denial didn’t seem sketchy, but who truly wants to be woken up at 2 in the morning by the authorities? Definitely not anyone he knows. Much less him. 

It was, however the moment he saw the shadow of footsteps stop in front of the door, then walk toward his room when he began regretting being that rude to the detective, he lazily pushed himself up and off the floor, then quickly but quietly ran to his bed and in order to keep the bed from creaking had to place himself back in and under the covers agonizingly slowly.

His fucking heart dropped when he was only one leg in and one of the detectives grabbed his doorknob and tried opening it only to discover it was locked. There was some hushed words, hard to make out and then the distinct sound of a zipper and he opened his eyes and saw his doorknob moving around and the lock turning. They’re fucking picking his lock.

He closed his eyes so fast the second he heard the click of the lock giving, which wasn’t soon after. Castiel wondered if the FBI did this alot, broke into people's houses, probably actually now that he thinks about it. 

Castiel feels like his breath is heavier than normal as he listens to the detectives bugging his room, and he might actually leave that tap there, they can hear him back at HQ fucking some pretty guy. This is when rationality hits Castiel, he has the upper hand now that he knows that there’s FBI agents in his room and bugs all over his house, and so he grins in his "sleep", makes a noise from the back of his throat and opens his eyes to a squint.

Through his eyelashes leaks a little bit of light and he sees two shapes, each placing a bug, one on his dresser and the other at the bottom of his bed. At his movements and small noise both shapes stop their separate jobs and after a few moments of silence, go back to work. 

Once he hears their footsteps walk away, the click of his lock and then the door, he gets up and places his alarm directly in front of the bug at the bottom of his bed, the one on the back of his nightstand, he ignores. 

The next morning was partially tiredness, which isn't remotely strange for Castiel anymore. The strange part of his morning waas waking up with a smile just thinking about how now he could prank the FBI by simply speaking. 

Moral of the story: Castiel needs to find some hobbies

When he gets up to use the restroom he screams “Rossiya, how I hate you!”,into the bug hidden in his bathroom storage courtesy of Russian lessons in the 11th grade. And just as overkill hummed the entirety of the national anthem as he peed. 

When he was brewing his coffee he searched all of his kitchen cabinets and didn’t find anything. It was when he placed his bread in the toaster that he checked the sofa cushions and found one, then all of his lamps and found 2. That just leaves about 2 or 3 more, maybe 4 or 5 if they bugged his study, which they probably did.But he’ll find them after his lectures today.

And with that in mind Castiel picked up his bag and his glasses along with his breakfast, he double checks that he had his car keys and locks his house as he stands on the fourth floor of his building. 

As he walked past the 2nd floor he waved to the old lady who always shot him dirty looks, it's his way of giving a little kindness to the world. 

Commute to the campus is worse than it was on years back, what with it being the beginning of the 2nd semester and all. Students and teachers alike are probably scrambling to find the halls they need to be in and at what time to be there. 

Once Castiel found his corresponding hall, he entered quietly to already find a few new faces, some old ones that are apparently re-taking his class. The air’s thick with dust and it’s obvious that the hall wasn’t cleaned before the new semester began. 

He quietly walked to the front, large desk throwing a glance at the few students, when one caught his gaze, he was dressed like he shouldn’t be in a college, much less an art history class. 

Dressed in denim jeans with a half tucked in, half out shirt and a sloppy leather jacket thrown over and greasy hair, neatly combed to the side to top it all of. The student lifted a blue pen to his bottom lip and looked up from what appeared to be a sketchbook and he smiled at Castiel, glancing slowly up and down his figure.

Castiel involuntarily flushed as he felt the drag of the students eyes up and down his body. He cleared his throat and sat down at the desk and chair provided at the front of the hall.

Students greeted him as they came in, mostly new students although the occasional repeat student that had failed his class once or twice did give him some nasty scowls because apparently it's his fault that they don't understand the concept of art techniques and when and why they were used. Much less critique art and memorize a few french terms and famous artists. In all honesty, Castiel's class isn't an easy A, but it's not the hardest course on the campus, like Quantum Physics with Dr.Bradbury.

Bradbury was one of Castiel's only friends on the campus, she was a fiery red-head that always had the upper hand in arguments and you can always find her in heated debate with the other physics and mathematics professors. Unlike Castiel, Bradbury talked to most everyone, she is a social butterfly.

Early on in their friendship Charlie had told Castiel that he seemed trustworthy and proceeded to tell him that unlike every other woman in the 50's she wasn't looking for a husband, but rather a wife, Charli immediately became his confidant. 

And so Castiel glanced down to his watch and saw that it was time the lecture began. 

"Some of you are new faces, some are a bit older," there was a few chuckles from the class he gave a small smile and heard a whistle to which he rolled his eyes at, "My class isn't necessarily hard, just a few quizzes, some memorisation and the final, I still do, however, highly recommend that you study. Your textbook is your savior and notes are your best asset, that is, if you even take any. Curt reminder that this isn't grade school, I'm just one of the nicer teachers." 

With a short exhale through his mouth and sharp inhale through his nose he began again, "I'll leave the syllabi on my desk, grab one on the way out and before I forget to mention my office number and office hours are placed on the window of the door, now let's begin shall we?"

Castiel could tell that only about 5% of this group actually knew what he was rambling on about when he began lecturing about the Sulawesi cave art and El Castillo paintings, and their age, dating back to 39,000 B.C.

He supposes this is part of why he loves lecturing, getting the quizzical looks or the looks of amazement, even enlightenment sometimes. 

He would pause to drink some of his now, lukewarm coffee and then start back up, often he would hear someone clear their throat, cough or sneeze. 

Once his hour was up, he finished his lesson with a "Don't forget to grab a syllabus and I'll see you for the next lecture." and a small wave. He sat back down behind his desk, having gotten up, paced and leaned against the back of his desk for the duration of the lecture. 

He was sitting with his textbook open to the next part he was going to lecture, highlighting and making notes and annotations of what he wanted to assign projects and papers on. 

Most of the students had filtered out when it happened. 

The boy with the blue pen was stood as his desk, hands fiddling with the edges of his syllabus and his sketchbook in one arm. This close up Castiel could easily recognize it as a sketchbook. Even on the cover, it's full of drawings of sharp jaws and eyes, seeming like statues, some corners were covered in paint and some pages looked like they had been dried after being wet. 

Once Castiel glanced up his toned body, past his strong jaw and cherry red lips, he caught his eyes and they were so intensely green, with specks of gold and brown in them. 

Castiel is already infatuated.

And then it rang out, the first phrase spoken in what seemed like ages, “Prof? Did you hear me?”. Castiel gave a confused head tilt and scrunched his eyebrows together, "Sorry, no, what?". 

"I said it's a pleasure to be in your class, Sir uh, Dr.Novak."

Professors at this school, hell at all schools don’t usually get to know their students on a name to name basis but art history isn’t a general course and Castiel considers himself friendly. 

“The name's Dean, Dean Winchester, Sir.” 

“Welcome to art history Dean. The name's Castiel” and the few students still in the hall stared at Castiel like he was on fire, but he ignored their gazes. 

And proceeded to give Dean a short smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates are whenever I can (listen okay, school's stressful :,( )  
> Please be patient


End file.
